


Genesis 1:2

by Haberdasher



Series: Twitch Plays Pokemon [38]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Twitch Plays Pokemon - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Twitch Plays Emerald, Twitch Plays Pokemon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 13:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2851619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haberdasher/pseuds/Haberdasher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A enters her new home and tries to learn more about her life before the voices. Sequel to Genesis 1:1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Genesis 1:2

A woman with brown hair ran up to A as she stood by the house, still taking in her surroundings.

"A, we’re here, honey!"

Before she knew it, the woman had her in a tight embrace.

"This is our new home! How do you like it?"

The voices kept yelling, but the news they supplied was only that which she had already guessed.

This woman, this unfamiliar woman who had hugged her without a moment’s notice, was her mother. Yet A couldn’t remember ever seeing that face before. These loving gestures might as well have been from an utter stranger.

Her mother ordered her inside, and she mindlessly followed.

The inside of the house had polished wood floors, a pastel pink rug layering the floor, and a small TV next to a spacious white table. Several boxes were splayed out across the room, and two large Pokemon- Vigoroth, weren’t they? Big strong ones native to Hoenn?- were moving furniture back and forth.

"See? Isn’t it nice in here?"

It was certainly a lot bigger than the back of the truck inside. As her mother talked up her having a room to herself, A figured that must be something new, something she hadn’t had before.

She numbly nodded.

"Your room is upstairs. Go check it out, dear! Dad bought you a new clock- don’t forget to set it!"

The voices were feuding. They kept talking about going outside, and the grand adventures that awaited her out there. But when A tried listening to them and leaving the house, her mother stopped her.

Well. It was worth seeing what the room was like, even if the voices didn’t seem to expect her to stay in it for long.

The first thing she noticed was the pastel pink rug, nearly identical to the one downstairs, though this one was worn away in spots. She didn’t much care for pink. There was a TV here, too, and an orange Gamecube attached to it, and a computer that took up most of the room on her desk.

A walked up to the computer, turned it on, and started pressing buttons aimlessly. The voices protested, calling the PC horrible names, saying that it was a false god and a demon and that it demanded blood, yet once she started none of them actually told her to move.

There was a mailbox, but no mail; a way to ship furniture, but no more furniture on its way. There was, however, a Potion next to the computer with a purple ribbon on it, which A pocketed.

After turning off the computer and getting up, she absentmindedly flipped through a torn, smudged notebook which lay on the desk. The first page contained two short hand-written messages, the text in bright red, the lines dark and sunken into the page:

_ADVENTURE RULE NO. 1: Open the MENU with START._

_ADVENTURE RULE NO. 2: Record your progress with SAVE._

The rest of the pages were mostly blank, though there were pencil marks and eraser marks, here and there, and several of the pages held faint outlines attesting to the past presence of writing. She tried holding up the pages to the light and running her hands over the imprints of invisible words, but still couldn’t decipher the marks. Whatever messages these pages had once held were lost to her now.

The two remaining phrases, however… “Start” was one of the words that the voices said over and over, and they’d alluded to “saving”, or having “saved”, several times now. Both actions led to widespread complaints and arguments and general discontentment, which made her head hurt all the worse. But whoever had written these words was advocating their use, though what that could do remained a mystery.

A mug near the notebook held a variety of writing utensils: pencils, mechanical pencils, black and blue and red pens, colored pencils, markers, highlighters… She grabbed one of the red pens and uncapped it, the cap falling to the floor.

The voices were growing impatient, speaking of starting and saving and menus all the louder. But, as her feet moved this way and that and threatened to walk away without her, she pushed the pen onto the page, the force poking a hole in the page. A clutched the pen with all her might and wrote the first words that came to mind on the page.

_I don’t understand_

She started walking away from the desk, but she managed to rip the page out of the notebook and look at it as she stumbled into a corner and against the wall, comparing her new writing to that which had been there before.

The handwriting was unmistakably the same.


End file.
